The red moon illuminates,
over the water,
crystals...
My stomach is pierced with blades,
thousands of them,
stars...
And darkness fills my empty heart,
dancing with the devil,
beauty...
But the deepest shades of gray,
will never be mine,
tragedy...
And if by the end, indeed I'm dead, cry,
tears in my memory, sweet
melodies...
But the red moon is painted with blood,
and it happens to be my veins,
luck...
And still the saddest birds cries it's tune,
bright in the early month of June,
love...

the disease turned the sky gray
and our forests into highways
stained the passing cars with blood
with those who continued along old paths
while the rest of us hid anticipating the hunter